


Ready To Start

by robotsfighting



Category: Glee
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Quinn-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 10:02:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotsfighting/pseuds/robotsfighting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn isn't good at being with people; a moment with Kurt and Blaine through Quinn's eyes, and her own problems coming to the surface. (Title from the Arcade Fire song of the same name.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready To Start

The asphalt is dark and snow-wet, patched with pools of orange light reflected back from the lamps lining the parking lot. Their cars are the only ones left; Breadstix closed half an hour ago, the wait staff hustling them out into the night with sharp _tut_ ’s at their noise, the neverending wall of shouting and singing from the long table at the back of the restaurant. It had continued out into the cold, and no had one left. Now they’re all standing between and inside of those pools of wet light, rivulets of melting snow over the asphalt, and they’re talking and shouting and singing like they never moved at all. Quinn stands between and among them, and wonders if this is ever going to stop.

Not this, this. Not standing in gloves and hats and coats with the whole group loud and happy. She knows that this is going to stop, eventually, and they’re all going to go home and go to school tomorrow and see each other again with this relief like it had been weeks. Not this. Quinn wonders if _this feeling_ is ever going to stop creeping over her, pulling her away, dragging her after it like it’s insistent she be punished. This feeling where she remembers herself, in the middle of losing herself. She had been fine, through most of dinner, she had been _fine_. She had forgotten everything and laughed and sang and been just as obnoxious and perfect as everyone else, but then they were outside and it was beautiful and dark and bright at the same time, and everyone had settled into these groups of conversation, and Quinn just _hadn’t_. She’d remembered herself, remembered that this was something she wasn’t good at, and everything had broken, the spell where she knew how to interact with other people. She’d just stood there out of the light while everyone made their little temporary camps, and she wasn’t a part of anything anymore.

This happens too much. It’s been happening less and less, but it still happens too much, and it makes her raw and miserable. Because it isn’t anyone’s fault, maybe not even hers, but she’s still so _angry_ sometimes, so hurt by everything, and she feels so trapped. It’s so hard to break out of the inside of her head and just _be a person_ , and it shouldn’t be. She should just know how. It’s like she broke that part of herself at some point, and nothing has been able to fix it.

Mike is dancing and Artie is following along using just his arms, both of them laughing at each other. Finn is watching them and grinning and Rachel is standing next to him with her arm through his, staring at Puck and Lauren with a slowly reddening face as they tell her what must be a truly _graphic_ story. Away from them, Mercedes has both of Tina’s hands in hers and is saying something very earnestly into her face, the entire time her expression about an inch from cracking into laughter. Tina’s already gotten there, and while Quinn watches she throws her head back at something particularly funny Mercedes says, trying to tug her hands away to wipe the tears of mirth from her eyes. Sam is standing with them, his hand on Mercedes’ shoulder, talking to Brittany, while Santana interjects every few moments into what Mercedes is saying, smirking in the way that means she’s actually happy, actually glad to be here, and she’s holding Brittany’s hand.

Everyone else knows how to be together. Everyone else can do this. Why can’t Quinn?

The only two people not involved in the group are Kurt and Blaine, but that isn’t a huge surprise; they tend to draw together and just watch, sometimes. That isn’t what they’re doing now, though. They’re standing a little bit away from both groups. They’re facing each other. And Quinn is watching, because she can’t really look away.

Blaine is unwinding his scarf, grinning, and Kurt is saying something, rolling his eyes, his mouth setting uncomfortably in his attempt not to smile when Blaine raises the scarf up and drapes it over the back of Kurt’s neck. He’s moving slowly, gently; Kurt’s rant stops mid-sentence when Blaine tugs the ends of the scarf to even it out, a little too intentionally hard so that Kurt stumbles closer with a breathless laugh. Blaine takes one end of the scarf and carefully crosses it over Kurt’s shoulder. (His fingers run over Kurt’s cheek in the process, and it can only be intentional, Quinn thinks, because she can see Kurt’s blush from where she’s standing, and she can see the warm way Blaine watches the rise of color.)

Blaine tilts his head down and takes the other end of the scarf in his hand, running his thumb over the Dalton crest. It’s blue over the deep red of the scarf, and Quinn remembers it from when Blaine had dropped into the seat next to her at dinner. He’d turned to her and smiled, polite, greeting her happily as he shrugged out of his coat and let it fall over the back of his seat. His scarf had draped and pooled a little on the floor, and Kurt, at the other side of him, had leaned back in his chair and seen it. He’d reached over and pulled it away, folding it with a disapproving look while Blaine just grinned at him, watching as Kurt placed it over the back of his own chair instead.

Now, Kurt is shaking his head, not meeting Blaine’s eyes, wearing a quiet little smile. He’s buttoning Blaine’s coat from the bottom up, his eyes on his hands, moving slowly, one after the other. Blaine watches, too, and now _Blaine_ is blushing, with a small, nervous grin, until Kurt gets to the top and presses his palm over the last button. He lifts his head, and his smile widens at the expression on Blaine’s face (breathless, eyebrows up). They move at the same time, that tiny shift forward, their lips brushing together, and then lingering; Kurt clutches at Blaine’s lapel and deepens the kiss, and Blaine follows, eyes closed, face _blissful_.

Quinn has come so far since last year in understanding that she’s worth something when she’s alone. She has, she really has, but there are _moments_ , like this one right now, where she can feel this great need inside of her. They’re so much fewer and further between, but they exist, and the feeling breaks through her like a tidal wave.

She just _wants_ so much.

She wants that intimacy. She hasn’t ever had it, she doesn’t know if she will ever have it, because she is just so closed to things that matter, and it’s something she knows. It’s something Finn knows. It made him crazy, it made him afraid of her, and he was so right sometimes that it’s painful, because Finn wanted that intimacy with her and she was totally incapable of it. And she could be incapable of it for the rest of her life, and that _terrifies_ her, as she watches Blaine break the kiss with a smile, press his forehead against Kurt’s and look into his eyes. And Kurt does the same, so open.

And that makes something brighten a little in Quinn’s mind. Because Kurt used to be like this; he was on the edge of things, he was silent and above it all and Quinn knows he was actually just terrified. He was trapped inside of himself, the way she is. But he’s so much better now. He stands close to Blaine with nothing between them, and he laughs easily and speaks loudly and never even thinks about backing down from anything. He throws himself into the middle of things, when he used to keep away.

Quinn doesn’t know what broke him out. She doesn’t think it was just Blaine. Maybe it was everything, all of the things that happened last year culminating in this shift where Kurt could actually reach out and touch the world. She wants that. She’s terrified of vulnerability, of being hurt, but she wants to touch, and she wants to _mean_ things.

She will.

She’s getting better. There are these moments, still, but it’s getting easier, little by little. And she can’t talk about it with anyone, but – maybe. Someday. Maybe soon. Maybe there will be someone to pull her back into the thrall of life again when she stops herself, to push her when she gets too scared to jump. Not a guy, not like that, but – Mercedes. Maybe Mercedes. Maybe, someday soon, she’ll tell Mercedes about how this happens sometimes.

It’s a plan. It’s something.

For now, the conversations are winding down. Finn and Puck are slapping each other on the back as a way of saying goodbye. Mike and Artie are wheeling over to Sam, and Tina and Mercedes—

Tina and Mercedes are walking over to her.

She blinks, and Mercedes stops in front of her, grinning sunnily. “You need a right home, right?”

Quinn falters. “I—yes.” She’d been dropped off. She forgot.

Mercedes’ grin widens, and she slips her arm through Quinn’s and starts to pull her along. “Girl, you and me and Tina are going to be riding in _style_ this evening, courtesy of my fabulous new car.”

Tina rolls her eyes, looking pointedly at Quinn. “I think she’s trying to get everyone to take a ride in it. She wants to show it off.”

“It’s my _baby_ ,” Mercedes croons, hitting the button on her key fob that makes her sleek black car flash its lights. “Everybody gets to see it. And Quinn’s my girl, so she gets to sit up front.” Mercedes looks back at Quinn with a smile that’s more personal, more private, and Quinn – she smiles back. Shaky, but there. Tina complains loudly, but Quinn can’t really hear her over the sound of her own relief.

Quinn glances back over her shoulder once before climbing into the passenger’s seat, and she sees Kurt and Blaine. They’re moving toward Kurt’s Navigator. Their hands are clasped, and Kurt’s laughing and pulling Blaine along. And Blaine’s just staring after him like he’s the greatest thing that ever happened to the world.

But it’s okay. Because Mercedes turns the engine over, and the music comes on, loud and happy, and everyone’s already singing, even before Quinn has closed her door.

And it will get better, because things get better. They can get better. And she’s going to try.

She’s going to have everything someday, and it’s going to be as amazing as this, with the windows cracked to the freezing air and the music swelling up inside of her. It’s going to be _amazing_.


End file.
